


The Amazing Aznable

by primaryglitch



Category: Mobile Suit Gundam, The Great Gatsby (1974), The Great Gatsby (2013), 機動戦士ガンダム | Mobile Suit Gundam (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by The Great Gatsby, M/M, basically the great gatsby but with gundam characters shoehorned in, im running with the homoerotic subtext and i will not be stopped, there's garma/lalah but its for the structure of the story, this is very lossely based on gatsby don't expect a masterpiece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:35:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25210996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primaryglitch/pseuds/primaryglitch
Summary: Amuro Rays arrives in New York in search of the American dream while attempting to chase away his past. By chance, he moves in next to Char Aznable, a charismatic millionaire that no one can quite decide on who he is or where he came from. Amuro becomes entangled in the lives of the wealthy, becoming far more than the observer he is used to being. After forging a bond together with Char, neither man can truly separate their lives again. As such, Amuro witnesses as the lives and loves of those around him fall into ruin and the very fabric of the American dream being tested- forcing him to face the question he had been running from: Will his past always define him? Or is it possible for him to become a new man?
Relationships: Char Aznable/Amuro Ray, Char Aznable/Lalah Sune, garma zabi/icelina eschonbach
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	The Amazing Aznable

**Author's Note:**

> A Great Gatsby Au that no one but myself wanted! so this is very very loosely based on gatsby, obviously many elements of the book and the characters I used have been changed- but I tried to stay either somewhat faithful or use this as a change to export aspects of these characters I haven't before.

My father was never much for talking, he was much more interested in the mechanics of great warships or the intricacies of the motherboard. However, once when I sat on his lap as a young lad, as I often did, watching him working his life away, his wife away, he spoke to me. I can still remember what he had told me as clear as a summer day. "Amuro,” he said suddenly without even looking down at me, "humanity is complex, without clear cut reasonings for their actions or responses. Therefore, relating to one another is the greatest challenge of men.” Afterward, he went back tinkering as if he hadn't spoken for the first time in hours, perhaps even days, left unsaid that machines are easier to understand. I could guess what had triggered the words in hindsight, a particularly nasty fight with my mother, but for many years it had felt they came out of nowhere. At the time, his words held little meaning, for I knew my place in the tiny world of my youthful comprehension. However, as I grew his words echoed in my mind and gained reason.

The older I became the more unsure I became of my place in the world. As a young boy, it seemed as if the hearts of humanity had beat as one. Yet, as I grew older I was shown time and time again that we were divided- by origin, ideals, blood, class, and far more- too plentiful to name. Humanity was broken, shattered into millions of fragments, each harshly contrasting each other. I could not say if humanity had even been whole as one, but I am doubtful it ever was. I cannot say in goodwill that I believe it ever will be.

As my world continued to grow throughout the years, it became apparent to me how narrow my viewpoint was and had always been. It so happens that none other than the one these memoirs owe its name came to expose me to such radically different views from my own, whole new worlds not only unknown but previously unfathomable to myself, than anyone else as he did. Mr. Char Aznable- the most charismatic of men, veiling himself in as much truth and fabrication, impossible to decipher which was which. His words were enchanting and glamorous, charming even the coldest of men and dulling even the sharpest of tongues. He was insufferable at times with his single-mindedness, his persona falling into what I assumed was his truest of selves; His flax flexibility gave away to the ridged righteousness he held up until his death. What within the man had made myself so responsive, I cannot exactly say beyond that he was fascinating down to his core, hidden underneath gilded gold. He who at first seemed to have everything anyone could want, the most influential and powerful, yet at the time when it mattered most, he had been helpless and was left with nothing to show for the shallow life he had built. Whether it had been his own nature twisted against him or the nature of the world that bore down on him that brought about his demise, I will never know. All I can say with certainty is that I wish I could have known the man better, perhaps expose him to worlds he was unaware of, as he had done so for me. Perhaps that would have brought about a different end that did not result in such an unfortunate loss.

* * *

My family has been well known enough in the Americas for at least three generations, perhaps five if you’re to be generous. We are a clan of sorts, composed of engineers and mechanics known for advancing the already state of the art field of astrophysics. As such, expectations were laid upon me at a young age due to my heritage and natural resonance with mechanics. So I did as I was told and buried myself within blueprints and schematics, only observing the world at large from a distance rather than interacting with it. 

That changed when I was drafted for the Great War, having been forced into the world’s bleeding heart as it tumbled and twisted in horrifying ways. I was shipped overseas, sent over from the midwest to Britain as a part of the reserve force, in particular, to study and improve their aircraft. There was which I, on accident then necessity, was found to have an amplitude for piloting when our base was unexpectedly attacked. Into the air I went, shipped out to France to fight on the western front.

The new battalion I was assigned to had been unofficially named White Base, keyed front its success in battle, rumored to have brought many enemies to their knees, raising more white flags than any other battalion could claim. The base was at the forefront of the western front, always shifting, submitting the tide of the war as it carried us. The stress unique to the demands of an excessively mobile unit brought us together. I found friends, a family even, among men amidst unimaginable suffering and pressure. Particularly with the nurse of my unit, who also had pilot experience by chance and necessity, the same as myself. Her name was Sayla Mass, a fiercely strong woman who any man would be lucky to be with. But she was the same as myself, largely uninterested in that of the opposite sex. We became confidants to each other, our bond becoming one of the few aspects of the war that I do not regret taking part in.

As time went on, my skills set me apart from other pilots- I was called a prodigy because of my lack of formal aerial training while the results I achieved rivaled those who had been at the top of their classes. It was for that reason that I was gifted an unique aircraft, the very same prototype that I had briefly observed in the British reserves. It was created from stolen data on the German's Fokker Eindecker combined with the British's Sopwith Dragon. What results was a beast of a machine, an aerial tank capable of higher speeds than was deemed possible. Her code was RX-78-2, the "White Unicorn'', a name befitting of her. However, she especially was demanding of her pilot- particularly sensitive and complex to an overwhelming degree. Yet, I managed time and time again, the sky becoming my home as I claimed life after life.

I soon became indistinguishable from her, we were one and the same. Together, we earned many names. By our allies, we were called the shooting star. The saying was that when you see a silver streak across the sky, your wish to live will come true. But that wasn't what I really was, no, what I truly had been was the White Devil. Coined by the enemy for the polished tungsten hull and wingspans, a sign that hell on Earth was to come. From all the lives I've taken and unforgivable sins I've committed, it's the most befitting of titles, one that still haunts me to my grave and I am sure will haunt me beyond as well. I still hear the screeches of engines ablaze as I tore them from the skies as if the machine were crying out for its pilot as they perished.

However, the shooting star was not without its equal. I had never been able to tear the red comet from the sky and for that, I might be grateful. That in the end, there was one life I was sure I could not claim. The comet was not unlike the devil, a fellow amalgamation of many machines. The comet had not started out that way, it had been simply a Fokker D.VII- a deadly machine in its own right, but only custom by the rust-red of its hull. Yet as time went on, the comet became more and more modified until its original design was all but lost. The only consistent aspect of the red comet was its pilot and their expert handling, who was able to push the aircraft to the very limit of its speed. I met the comet commonly in battle, and neither of us had ever been able to truly defeat the other. Which is not to say I hadn’t been bested and forced to retreat from time to time.

Regardless, I became in high demand, always being thrown from one battle to the next in rapid succession. I was known for my unusual high success rate, yet I only saw my mistakes. The constant bombing and dogfights, it eroded my mind. Shellshock was uncommon in pilots, often finding their graves before trauma could properly take root. But I was an unlucky one as I seemed incapable of finding my grave in battle. Many times I considered cutting the engines mid-flight, but I never had the courage or resolve to do so, as much as I wish I had. So I resigned myself to battle, allowing scars invisible to the eye to be carved again and again into my soul. While any other soldier in the state I had been reduced to would have been shipped off the lines to the military hospitals back in Britain, I was unfortunately deemed too indispensable to be put out of my misery. So there I stayed in active duty until the aftermath of the Battle of Amiens.

I cannot recall everything that had happened on that wrecked day at times, for I believe I truly lost part of my mind along with my heart. However, it will come back to me in flashes as if I was reliving my nightmare while conscious. How I wished I could change the past. Perhaps my commander sensed when he finally discharged me, or if my mental degradation had simply outweighed my usefulness as a pilot. I was granted leave before the battle had truly ended so I was not part of the final efforts to clean out the remaining holdouts of the war.

I was shipped to Craiglockhart in Britain, although I have little memory of my time spent in that hospital. As much as I had thought to hate my servitude, I had forgotten how to live outside of it. The ground felt foreign, yet the sky fostered fear and dread. I recall that for the longest time, I never looked upwards, even when indoors, for fear of what I might see. That I would be forced to witness endless dogfights and all those I had killed. However, there is one day I clearly recall that was near the end of my stay, only a few days before I was charted to return to the States. On that day I received a letter, the first one that I had that was not from a comrade. The letter was not like those that the other men often received from friends and family, because on it was an official military seal. Within was a death certificate, one that I had thought to be my own in a cruel twist of fate- after all, I was only a husk of a man. Whoever I might have been before I left my motherland had died in the trenches. However, once I came to my senses I saw it was that of my father’s, rather than my own. Along with it was a brief statement praising his achievements and details on his demise, carbon monoxide poisoning from an undetected gas leak in the factory he was overseeing. The news didn't affect me as much as it should have at the time, having lost someone as significant as a father. I had been accustomed to losing those close to myself on the battlefield so my grief was short-lived, if there at all. Apathy is protection when the world crumbles around you. After that, I returned to the States and hoped I could live out the remained of the days in quiet. Of course, that was not what life had planned for me.

I was a celebrity back at home, I ended up touring for the military to raise war bonds. It was exhausting for a man who had grown up in the company of machines rather than people. However, there was a silver lining. My popularity and service brought to the limelight my abilities in mechanics and electronics, interesting Anaheim Electronic. A.E. was one of the largest backers in experimental war machines, RX-78-2 had been their crown jewel. But with the war winding down, they wished to explore other industries as well, not one to be left behind and fade into obscurity. That is the premise on which A.E approached me, offering a job in the growing field of electrical engineering.

This new branch of A.E. was funded in part by the Zeon Foundation, another tyrant that emerged from the embers of war. The Foundation was a german company that had moved to the States in mid-1916 with the support of A.E., without which it would have been impossible for such a large foreign company to enter the United States during a time of war. I was familiar with the military branch of their works, with a number of the aircraft I fell bearing their name. However, the Foundation’s main focus was on politics and economics investments internationally. Both A.E.’s and the Foundation’s hunger for growth is what I assumed attracted the two together.

The job offer came with the requirement that I must relocate to New York, which suited me just fine. On my return from touring, I moved back into my mother’s house, the same which I grew up in. I truly love my mother, but we had never quite seen eye to eye. She had always been firmly against the war and wanted to ignore that I had ever taken part in it. But I had changed from my experience, in a way I could not revert from. I was not the same boy she had known and that did not sit well with her- the constant keepsakes of my younger life only emphasized these differences. We began to fight, often, and I imagine if I had not left on my own accord she would have disowned me not long after. She certainly has not written or attempted to contact me in any way since. But I will admit, I have not either.

Then there was the issue of living arrangements. The city center was too suffocating to spend more time in that strictly necessary. When by chance I encountered one of my fellow platoon members, Kai, he suggested that we board together. I quickly agreed, both for the breathing room and that I was unsure of how I would tolerate living alone after having accustomed myself to sleep alongside others in the field. He found the housing faster than I expected. When I asked how he managed to, he admitted to throwing my name around with a laugh. Nevertheless, the important thing was that I would be able to vacate the studio apartment I had found myself in. Unfortunately, not even a week after our arrangements had been finalized, Kai was called off to California. He was a journalist, who was charted to spend the coming year covering the growing industries in New York but his publisher suddenly pulled out of their contract. I harbor no ill feelings towards Kai, knowing how it was when I was forced place to place with little to say from my victory tour. So I was left with a house to myself.

The house itself was nothing to write home about, a small thing that’s most defining feature was the fact that it stood where it stood. My place of residence was within a neighborhood that was clearly the playground of the wealthy, with gorgeous pieces of aged agriculture spreading for miles. Between the mansions, the house might have well been a garden shed. The interior mirrored the exterior, bare besides the basic utilities and furniture, so I went about making it my own. I quickly rejuvenated the largest of the ground floors into a workshop- I was very much my father’s son in that respect. Soon, I indulged myself in obtaining various components of machinery to the point where there could very well have been full cars disassembled within that room. To anyone else, it must have looked to be a complete chaos and a source of anxiety, but it was where I was most calm. The next I focused on was the study, where I grew my merger collection of books into enough to be a small library in its own right. I gathered texts on anything even vaguely related to my work or interests. My position in A.E. had loose guidelines that allowed for great periods of independent study- the only real requirement was that I turned in something of note often enough to justify my pay. I ended up spending a large portion of my time consumed in those texts, losing myself within them as I had done with my father’s old manuals as a boy.

The exterior of my abode remained an eyesore, I did not have any interest in remodeling it. I worried at first it would be a source of displeasure for my neighbors before I realized how easy it was to truly overlook that such an eyesore even existed when compared to the presence the glamorous mansion beside mine commanded. One, in particular, caught my eye like no other, the one right beside my humble home. The mansion rivaled the Emirate Palace in beauty. It glistened a deep scarlet, trimmed with gold. The enchanting decorative patterns and sculptures hanging from its wall could have very well been crafted from ruby. The yard was immense and well-trimmed. Off the mansion, I could see a swimming pool fit for the Olympics. The mansion stood out like a crown gem from the white marble mansions that surrounded it. This beautiful display belonged to Mr. Aznable, a man whom I had yet to know of.

Both my glorified shack and the crimson mansion fit for a king were on the West Egg, which was less impressive for the most part than the East Egg to most folks. Both seemed overly fancy to me, but I had spent much of my life in the rolling fields of the midwest. The Eggs were on the formations of land sticking out over the water a ways from New York. My old friend, Lalah Sune, I found lived out on the East Egg along with her husband, Garma Zabi, when she invited me over for dinner to welcome me to the city. That night was when my story truly started, when I began to stumble my way into Mr. Aznable’s life and subsequent death.

I had only seen Lalah a scarce few times in my life before my return from the war. You see, the Rays and the Sunes had become entangled a few generations back with their twin interests in advancing technology. The relationship had become more strained with the Sunes poorly investing more and more into psychology programs, digging themselves into debt. By the time I had been born, the relationship had been more so one of the past. My father had never spoken in length about the Sunes, to this day most of the history I know between the family was from what my father briefly summarized before meeting them. I believe the meeting might have been arranged between our families to enhance information or leads in the industry, but I was still very young and didn’t really care to understand that aspect of things. Representing the Rays were only my father and myself. While an older woman was representing the Sunes, my focus was trained on the girl only a few years older than myself. She was a different type of shy than I was- I avoided people from not knowing how they would act while she was shy because she knew too much about how people would react. While the adults talked, we did eventually approach each other and took a liking to the other and we spent every moment of that weekend together- which became the cornerstone of our relationship. We corresponded over letters occasionally, and eventually created a bond between us that we came to call each other cousins, yet lost touch over the years.

We had rekindled our relationship when we met once again in college, by chance. By this time, the Sunes were stricken by poverty, nowhere near wealthy enough to send Lalah to college. I could not understand how such a thing was possible until I met her husband. Garma Zabi was a man used to wealth but unused to being around those without it. He had written one widely successful novel and had yet to be published again. He constantly spoke of new projects in the works, but he was the type of author who peaked and failed to recapture what had made them successful in the first place. But that was no matter to Garma, what he could not obtain with his own wealth he could with his family’s. He was fiercely proud of them, citing they were a family of self-made men, having only come into wealth in recent years. Apparently by which of their own published works, which Garma claimed had inspired him to take up the pen himself. While I do not find Garma to be an inherently dishonest man, I tend to wonder how much of his novel is his own words and how much is editing. Garma and I came in contact with each other throughout the workshops we took to hone our skills with the pen. This was when I was still working on publishing a compilation detailing the technology advancements made in aviation. Garma thought a lot of himself as an author at times, so he very often ignored those that he felt didn’t meet a certain standard. Despite that Garma wrote fiction, he still took interest in my writings. I got the impression that he approved of me and tried to take me under his wing. Overall unhelpful considering how cashing our subject matters were, but I never harbored ill will towards him and he seemed to think of us as good friends.

I hadn’t spoken to either since I had graduated, but I heard of them a great deal. The pair had traveled often, even as far as Europe. They had spent a year in some European country, Germany or Austrian-Hungary or the likes to visit the members of Garma’s that had not followed him to America. Apparently, Garma’s father did not want him to be caught up in the war and had sent him away. It was rumored they had stayed in every major city in the country on their honeymoon, which had an equal likelihood of being true as false. From my time knowing him, Garma was a true poet at heart, even if he could be a lackluster one on the page. I could never truly see him settling in one place for the remainder of his life because of that, regardless of what Lalah would want.

So I drove to the East Egg to greet an old friend and her husband, unknowing of the whirling path that I had begun to walk.

* * *

The Zabi’s mansion was overly elaborate in every sense, like a beacon even among similar white palaces. The house’s exterior looked to be entirely carved of marble. On the pillars were deliberately grape and other climbing vines, the dark greens and deep violets contrasting sharply with the milky white backdrop. Behind the pillars were french windows so crystal that if not for their trimming I wouldn’t have known they were there. The mansion was surrounded by thick yet meticulous care for the gardens, the most prominent pieces being the purple robe locust trees that lined the house. The property reached down to the shore, between which stone paths weaving throughout the landscape. Stretched between the garden and the shore was a perfect trimmed yard of kentucky bluegrass. The sight could easily be one out of any given man’s dreams. Then in front of it all was a man on the front porch that had already captured the dreams of many others.

Garma Zabi had changed in the years we had been apart. His hair now hung freely over his shoulders and his face had hardened slightly but still retained its youthful boyishness that never seemed to leave him. His physique was lean like a panther with piercing eyes to match, as if he was always examining you and picking you part into what he could use in flowery prose. He was imposing in his own way, as if behind that smile was a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. He had refined himself over the years, out of necessity I assume. I imagine he has grown restless of depending on his one success and was trying to chase after that perfect combination of words once again.

I joined Garma on the porch and spoke about nothing with him for a while before he gave in to the urge to flaunt his winnings. “A perfect picture, isn’t it?” he said with a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. “If a picture is worth a thousand words, then what would be a better place to write than here?” He held out both of his arms as he spoke as if presenting his home to a great crowd rather than a single man. “Come along now, there’s far more to see than just the front door,” Garma continued as he took my wrist and led me inside.

I found that the interior lived up to Garma’s gloats as I was led throughout the grand hallway. Eventually, Garma rushed me into an open door at the end of it. The room seemed to glow as the warm amber sunset filtered in through the large window behind them, their white drapes dancing gracefully over the sky blue rug. It was if I had walked out into the sky itself and found it a peaceful place, nothing like the bloodied winds I still feared. The centerpiece of the room was a lengthy coach with two women laid about it, with their dresses draped outwards like wings, the wind gentle teasing them as they lounged like shifting feathers. I was transfixed on the sight before me as if I had caught a glimpse of something angelic before I heard the loud snap as the windowpane came down and my trance was broken. As Garma stepped away from the window he had slapped with more force than necessary, I caught a slightly sour expression. I had forgotten that the man did not take well when he was not the center of attention.

The first woman was dressed in a soft sleeveless blue gown and made no moves to meet my eye. For a moment my mind tried to convince me that she was Sayla. But last I heard from her, she had been across the country to formally continue her medical degree. While she did share my friend’s blue eyes and blonde hair, her other features were different. She wore her wavy hair just past her shoulders and her face was without blemish. It was then that it struck me how unuse I was to the presence of makeup. But she was pretty in that certain way that was captured on the silver screen, that distant type of beauty. I had been so enchanted in curiosity by the woman who seemed to embody a life so unlike my own that the utter rudeness of my gaze had escaped me for a few moments. I must have flustered and stuttered out a weak apology that neither of us seemed to hear.

The other woman- Lalah- was dressed in that daffodil she always favored, her dress hanging off her shoulder in loose open sleeves. Even after all these years, she still wore her hair back in two loose buns as she had when we first met. Lalah met my eyes, captured them, and leaned forward as if to stand but came short. She smiled so wide her eyes crinkled and she laughed like the chime of a bell, holding open her arms while inviting me forward. I laughed back and at that moment felt like we were children again as I walked towards her.

“Amuro,” she said softly as she took my hand, “It’s the greatest pleasure to see you again.” I believe her, Lalah had that way with her words, a sense of openness and honesty whether it was actually there or not. And even more impressively she made you not care if it was. With that same softness she introduced the woman next to her, her first name escaped me as I was still caught up in our reunion, but I caught that her surname was Irma. At her mention, Miss Irma’s gaze flickered over me and her eyes glimmered for a moment as if caught by a particularly shiny piece of metal. But that looked faded as swiftly as it came and she regarded me with a nod, returning back to whatever thoughts may have occupied her.

I had to lean forward slightly to pick up Lalah’s individual words instead of hearing the soft song that her voice could fall into. I heard some men call it seductive and others trickery. But I think her tone was simply an olive branch trying to connect to souls. She was always a sensitive one, but clever nonetheless. She had told me before that it was not simply enough to leave the door open, but that you must invite others in when in search of connections between men. Lalah continued our exchange with her asking of all the little intricacies of my life rapidly before I could inquire much about hers. We did settle in a conversation regarding our past homes, in particularly Chicago as I made my way east.

“Do they remember me?” Lalah asked with both curiosity and fear. She had a soft spot for that town, having spent some time there pursuing her own personal projects in its betterment.

“Why, of course, they do. They couldn’t go five words without mentioning your name.”

“It is most delightful to miss in return. I would love to return, I have since I left. Why, Garma, we should go back soon. There must be plenty more to do,” Lalah said, longing heavy in her voice. She began to say more but stopped. After a moment, she added as if an afterthought. “You must see Audrey.”

“Of course,” I replied somewhat hesitantly. I distantly remembered that they had a daughter, but the name was unfamiliar to me. I was never one much for children to begin with.

“She still should be asleep around this time of night, she is still so young. Haven’t you met her before? Oh, she must have been born while you were still away-”

“Amuro,” Garma interrupted, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, causing Lalah to drop my hand. “What brings a man like you to the city.”

I told him my unique position at A.E.

“Never heard them before or of such a thing before,” he said somewhat smugly.

“You will,” I retorted, with a hint more aggressive than needed. I was known to be defensive about my work. “That is if you stay around long enough for us to gain traction."

Garma just laughed fully and pulled me closer, “I’m sure I will if you can write anything close to what you used to.” Garma paused and met Lalah’s eyes and something seemed tense between them. “I would be a fool to leave the place we have here, wouldn’t I, Lalah?” he stated, not asked.

“I supposed you would,” she responded in a quiet resignation that made it clear that there was an argument, perhaps many, lurking beneath.

“Perfectly said,” Miss Irma laughed, cutting the heavy silence that had enchanted us. She blinked and surveyed the room, surprised as I was that she had been the one to speak. But it didn’t seem to bother her as she slid up to a stance, elegant in her sharp motions. “I’ve been sitting far too long, it can’t be good for my posture.”

“That happens to be your own fault,” Lalah tensed. “I’ve been trying to get you to join me on an outing for the better part of the night.”

“You know the same as I,” Miss Irma said as she paced around the room before retrieving the tray of champagne flutes that had been laid out for us. “It would do me no good to carelessly galavant the city. Far too many cameras.”

“Always with the cameras,” Garma declared, throwing his arms up in false defeat, allowing me to escape while doing so. “How you manage to take leads eludes me.”

I watched Miss Irma as she strutted across the room, wondering what ‘leads’ she took. She was a pretty lady, the kind my mother would try to set me up with. It came to me that my sudden interest in her appearance was not miraculous, I must have seen her likelihood somewhere before. When she swiveled back, she naturally met my gaze. “Lalah had told me you live on the other side. That could be useful to me. Who do you know?”

Her sudden acknowledgment of my presence caught me off guard, “I keep to myself, I wouldn’t kn-”

“You must know Aznable, at least.”

“Who’s Aznable?” Lalah demanded with a strange tension in her voice.

I did not get the chance to elaborate that I had, indeed, at least heard of Aznable- my neighbor- but nothing beyond that when we were called away for dinner. Garma reclaimed his position with his arm around my shoulder and all but out pulled me from the room. I heard the two ladies follow behind us, idle chatter between them that I could not make out as I was led to a fenced outdoor deck, greeted by a grand cream table cloth with candles flickering in the wind. I got the uncomfortable notion that a mood was attempted to be set, but I couldn’t say for which pair of us. Lalah was having none of that blew them out.

“Why candles? It's a crime not to enjoy the sunset, it's more beautiful in the height of summer. If anything, the sky paints a perfect backdrop for company,” Lalah lamented while gesturing to the sky in an almost restless manner.

Miss Irma fell down into her chair with an impressive amount of grace, “Then why not have company?”

“Yes, yes, I think I will,” Lalah paused as if searching desperately for words before turning to me. “You’ll come back, won’t you Amuro? You live so close it would be a shame not to visit.”

I didn’t get a chance to reassure Lalah that I would before her gaze was drawn to the garden and her face fell into something between disappointment and outrage. I followed her line of sight while she was still struggling for words and saw what was distressing her. Between their home and the waterfront was an artificial pound of decent size, about a meter out from its perimeter was an ornate railing contoured into a fence. Within it, I made out five mute swans of various sizes. What seemed to be troubling her was the one closest to us, making quite a fuse flapping its wings struggling to get over the fence. “You clipped their wings!” Lalah cried out. “When I told you to not put them in a cage, so you went behind my back and trapped them anyways. A collector- how false, you’re a captor-”

“I hate the word captor,” Garma hissed, “even when used lightly."

“Captor,” Lalah said more firmly.

The dinner continued less eventfully for a time. Both Lalah and Miss Irma conversed as naturally as breathing together, their voices even overlapping at times. But there was no depth in their words, seeing such insecurity in my friend prompted deep unrest within me. But Miss Irma seemed to fall into this manner of talk as if she was born into it, bringing me to wonder further about this image she had crafted for herself. Both of them would make comments or include Garma and I at times about their conversing, but we more so fell into quiet watching. Garma had attempted some banter, but soon quieted when he realized I was very much so content with my own place in the background.

“You make me feel like a foreigner, Lalah,” I eventually admitted, “with all this talk of places I’ve never been and people I’ve never heard of.”

I hadn’t meant to spark anything particularly by the comment, but Garma flared to life, “That’s the problem with our world. Civilization has been turned against us- an educated man such as yourself should be able to see the sights of the world. Yet, it's the rabble scrambling from place to place, taking what isn’t theirs.”

“Garma has found passion as of late,” Lalah sighed with a far off look. “He’s been reading large texts from rich old men back in Europe.”

“It’s all proven fact!” Garma insisted. “The monarchies and their aristocrats have been disappearing, there are few bloodlines worth a damn left. It’s the job of those who still are linked to take control, or it will all go to hell. It's for everyone's own good. You’ve seen how the war was.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that those very bloodlines he held high had been the ignition. He continued on, trying to wrap me and Miss Irma into it. He did with some reluctancy include Lalah in a very uncomfortable manner. There was a certain bit of patheticness in his ravings, either from a complete misunderstanding of his own circumstances or that of those around him. He seemed to only get more frantic until a ringing beckoned Garma to hastily retreat inside.

Once Garma was out of earshot Lalah leaned over and grasped my arm, “Amuro, do you want to hear a family secret?”

“Well, of course, that’s why I’m here.”

“For our wedding, Garma wanted birds, something regal and elegant. So he picked out doves, saying that they are perfect- the opposite of the scum we see in the city. But you doves are pigeons, just dressed up differently. So it was-”

“Another white lie?” Miss Irma suggested.

“Yes, another white lie until the end of the night.” The last of the sunlight faded as she spoke, as if the day had hung on only to hear Lalah’s whispers. But it seemed as if a spell was broken, as she got up suddenly and fled to the house like a bird taking flight.

The two of us remaining- Miss Irma and I- sat in stunned silence for a few moments, staring at each other without really seeing anything before my nervousness got to me. “This Aznable, you’re right I do know, well know of him, he’s my neighbor-”

“Hush, don’t speak. I want to hear what happens next.”

“Hear what?”

“Oh, you don’t know? I thought everyone did- Garma isn’t exactly the sliest.”

“Know what?” I replied, slightly more impatient.

“He’s got a lady down in New York,” she whispered, leaning in towards me with one hand on my shoulder and the other cupped around her mouth.

“A lady?” I replied dumbfounded. While I did not have the highest of opinions of him, I had always assumed Garma to be faithful.

“Must be quite a pretty one with how fast he always jumps to the phone. Thought she would be wise enough not to call at a time when company is more than likely.”

Before I could ask more, I heard the fluttering of Lalah’s dress and the sharp click of Garma’s fitted boots as they stalked back to the table. The air was tense between them as if a fight had already begun or if one was waiting to happen. We all returned to the table and acted out the end of the meal as if everything was perfect. Which is to say very few words were said and even fewer bites were taken. Once it had been collectively decided that dinner was over, Garma and Miss Irma set out their separate ways towards the house. I couldn’t tell you what had been traveling through her eyes, but I swore that she only took Garma’s company to give Lalah from his for a time. Her friendship with Lalah seemed earnest enough for that to be the case.

I followed Lalah as we walked around the garden while night had not fully blackened yet. She gravitated towards that swan’s pond and leaned over the edge, taking one of their heads in her hands. I knew those birds could be nasty things, so I could only imagine how much time she must have spent with them. There was a wistful sorrow on her face, I could not tell if it was empathy for the creatures or sympathy for herself. “I feel like we are very close, Amuro, but we don’t truly know each other that well. You didn’t know about the doves, we hadn’t had any doves at our wedding.”

“I was still out in Europe when you were married.”

“Ah, I suppose that's true. But it's a shame war keeps people apart,” she sighed, her eyelids heavy with a weariness I wish she did not carry. 

I am not the best man to turn to for comfort, so I did what I knew- distract. “So how’s Audrey? She’s getting older now isn’t she?”

“Yes, that is what happens to us all,” Lalah whispered in that way only she could, but turned away so I could barely hear. When she did turn back to me, it was too dark to fully see her eyes and what emotions must have been reflected back at me. “Amuro, do you know what I said when I first got her? She’s not my own, she’s Garma’s niece, his brother and his wife both had gotten into an accident. Well, Audrey wasn’t her name then. When Garma said we were taking her, that’s all I asked- that I could name her. I thought "the best thing for a little girl is to be unknown to the world." Isn’t that a horrible thing to say?”

“You see, there’s so much weight on everyone right now,” she continued. “I thought that to be burdened by your family is the worst of things. I wanted to free her of that, but thinking a name could do that was thoughtless of me- it's not like I would have been able to convince Garma to give up her last one as well. If only it was that easy.” Lalah broke off in a laugh, “God, I sound like him now don’t I?” The hollowness in Lalah’s voice caused more turmoil in myself than I can properly express. We stayed like that, in the silence, for a few minutes more. I was not a fool enough to pretend I had words to comfort her.

* * *

The room was almost painfully bright once we made our way back inside. It had seemed that before we entered Miss Irma was reading back a note of criticism on recently republished of Garma's golden goose. I didn’t catch the words, but from his expression, he did not take it well. Miss Irma stopped when she saw us, bringing Garma’s attention to us as well.

“To be further elaborated in my next addition,” she finished before raising to her feet. “Now, it's well past time for me, I would be a fool to think I could get along any further and still be in fit form by daybreak.”

“Beltorchika has to be down by the Bronx by midday for a shot tomorrow,” Lalah explained. “Which one was this for again?”

“The Titan's upcoming mid-summer apparel,” Beltorchika, explained with a yawn. “Nothing too interesting, but at least should be able to find something interesting write back on.”

“Oh- you’re  _ Beltorchika  _ Irma.” I had seen her before, many times. She was a common face on any fashion selection of magazines appealing to the same people who could afford to live in the East Egg, a model who seemingly came out of nowhere. Then less glamour, she had a fairly large name in the realm of reporting. I remember Kai having mentioned working with her more than once. But there was been some controversy about her I had heard, but I couldn’t place what it had been.

“That would be me, better or worse in person?” she teased before turning to Lalah. “Goodnight, do wake me up before sunrise or my agent will have stern words about my habits.”

“You’re your own agent, darling,” Lalah smiled, as if in an inside joke.

“You’re exactly right, so if you don’t want her to have stern words with you as well I would suggest you do just that,” Beltorchika bannered back with not a hint of malice in her tone. “And goodnight you two. I’ll be seeing you.”

“I’m sure you will, Bel,” Lalah called out. “I’ll reserve a spot for your wedding right now.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that and I might give your boy a chance,” she waved off as she disappeared around the corner.

“She a doll, isn’t she? But her family really should have taught her better,” Garma said in that way he had, where you couldn’t be sure if it was praise or criticism.

“You know her parents are long gone,” Lalah said flatly as if she had this exact conversation the night before, and the night before that and so on. “She can take care of herself. Amuro will need more looking after than she does.”

“Have you known each other for long?” I said, not entirely comfortable with this relationship I apparently was already having with someone I just met.

“She was my first friend here. Well, the first friend Garma approved of enough to-”

“So did you spin Amuro a little tale out in the garden?” Garma interrupted flatly.

“Why, I have no idea what you could mean. Do you Amuro?”

“I haven’t a clue.” I was not interested in getting wrapped up any further in marital affairs this evening.

Garma regarded me for a moment before turning away with a huff. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Amuro. You’re far to smart for that.”

I continued to insist I did not have a clue of what he was speaking of, and that was half true. With Beltorchika gone, I was uncomfortable acting as a buffer between the two of them and decided it was time for the night to come to an end. I enchanted pleasantries in the most elegant way I could without revealing that I wanted nothing more than to lose myself in tinkering for a few hours then sleep the next day away.

Before I could walk away, Lalah called to me. “Ah, Amuro, excuse me for trying to mingle in your relationships. I had forgotten that I heard you were engaged to a girl back west.”

Ah, they meant Fraw. An unfortunate side effect of befriending someone of the opposite sex too well and for too long. No wonder Hayato would become irritated with me. “You’ve mistaken me for another.”

“But I’ve heard that Miss Bow has gotten engaged from so many,” Garma insisted.

“Yes, but not to me.” I had hoped to escape such gossip after moving, but it seemed it always followed me in some form. I tried not to be annoyed at the two of them, after all, it is not like they knew how heavy my titles from the war still chained me. It did, however, make me feel less out of place with the two of them if small-town rumors could make their homes in the East Egg. But the whole encounter left a foul taste in my mouth. What I saw was all the reasons the two should separate from each other, but I knew they would not. That’s just how it was, I had long stopped trying to understand why. There were certain social aspects I was simply destined to not understand.

My thoughts trailed off as I drove back to my home, it seemed the shadows of the towering mansions settled over me even in the night. My wandering eyes landed upon a silhouette walking slowly out into the grass; one who I suspect the man of the hour himself- Mr. Aznable. Even from a distance, something in his walk caught my attention. Even in the dead of night, he walked with a purpose. He had a presence to him that I wanted to take in.

I decided then I would call him. It would do me well to be social, as your status seemed to be as valuable as gold in these parts, and his mention earlier had made him an item of interest. He was the one that even I was supposed to know, by Bel's account. I took one last glance at him before pulling into my driveway, and I swore I could see him stretch his arms out as if he could reach across the water, towards where the moonlight was dancing over a small circle of glistening gold, as if he could reach into that cage and pluck out whatever he so desired.

I had to turn my attention back to the road to avoid colliding with the side of my house, but when I stepped outside I could see no sign that he had ever been there and I was once again alone in this unfamiliar world.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a low stress gundam pet project for me to work on while I'm still working out the kinks in my cybernewtype au, which is taking me forever because I want it to be as close as prefect as possible.


End file.
